Titanic: The Story
by LILY R0SE
Summary: This is pretty much the movie in the form of a story. I'm a huge bookworm and wanted to read Titanic, rather than just watch it, so I wrote this. It's 100 percent canon, seeing as it's based on James Cameron's screenplay. Please R&R.
1. The Ghost Ship

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the incredible movie Titanic. Everything here, this story line, it's characters and anything else, except the actual ship, belongs to the fantastic James Cameron. I am merely turning it into a story, rather than a screenplay.**

**A/N: Okay, so I was watching my most favorite movie in the whole world (Titanic) and I decided that it would be super cool if it were an book, rather than a movie. I mean how awesome would that be to sit down and **_**read **_**Titanic? It would be soooo cool!! So I thought, why don't I write it? There are tons of books that are based on movies, right? So, here is how I would write Titanic if I were ever granted permission to do so. Please enjoy!! And at the end, hit that little review button at the bottom of the page!! Pretty please, I'll even throw in a cherry, right on top!!!!**

CHAPTER ONE

THE GHOST SHIP

It was the Ship of Dreams. The largest moving object man had ever built. Everyone said it was the fastest and most luxurious ship known to man, and even better it was "unsinkable". It was said that God, Himself could not sink that ship. But somehow, he managed to do just that.

Sheer blackness was all forty-eight year old Brock Lovett could see from the small porthole of Mir One. He stared out into the darkness of the North Atlantic as the miniscule submersible sank lower and lower into the eerie water. Starring out of the window, Brock could see his reflection in the nine inch sheet of glass that kept the water from submerging them all. His dark brown hair was streaked with flecks of grey and his tanned skin wrinkled slightly around his eyes. He wore his navy blue Nomex suit unzipped slightly, to show a piece of gold fastened around his neck. The gold coin had been recovered from another shipwreck, although that one had been in the Caribbean rather than in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Brock Lovett was a treasure hunter, as a matter of fact he was one of the most publicized treasure hunter in the 90's. Most people thought of him as fast-talking, treasure vacuum cleaner. He claimed to be an Adventurer- Historian, but most knew that he was nothing more than a grave robber. He would do anything to get his hand on treasurers from the past. And right now, his sight was set on finding The Heart of The Ocean, which was said to have gone down with the magnificent Titanic.

To Brock's left sat the sub's pilot, Anatoly Mikailavich. He sat surrounded by hundreds of controls, that kept the Mir One moving smoothly through the ocean. Mikailavich hunched over his controls, singing softly to himself in Russian, trying to ignore the excited treasure hunter and his Titanic expert, Lewis Bodine.

Lewis Bodine sat in the remaining space, in the seven foot sub. He was a rather large, bearded man. Bodine leaned against the cold medal wall, sound asleep. Every so often, a loud snore would escape him, but for the most part he kept relatively quiet.

As time past, the submersible stayed in a steady freefall to the ocean floor. Then with a sudden jerk, the submersible hit the murky bottom. Bodine woke with one last snort. "We're here," Anatoly growled in a heavy Russian accent. Within five minutes the submersible and it's twin skimmed over the seafloor to the sound of sidescan sonar and the thrum of big thrusters.

Bodine carefully watched the sidescan sonar display, where the outline of a huge pointed object was visible. Anatoly lay prone, driving the sub, his faced pressed to the center port. "Come left a little," Bodine instructed. "She's right in front of us, eighteen meters. Fifteen. Thirteen. You should see it."

"I don't see it. Do you see it? THERE!" shouted Anatoly.

Out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the ship appeared. It's knife-edge prow seemed to blow the bottom sediment like ocean waves. It towered above the seafloor, standing there, just as it did eighty four years earlier.

Mir One inched its way closer and closer toward the ship, or what was left of her. The sub slowly went up and over the bow railing of Titanic. The railing miraculously was still looked just as it did all those years ago, except for an overgrowth of some sort of underwater plant, draping it like mutated moss.

Inside Mir One, Brock Lovett pulled out a small video camcorder. Brock turned the camera so that the lens faced him, while he looked out the porthole. "It still gets me every time," he said dramatically, glancing toward the camera. "It's just your guilt because of stealing from the dead," Anatoly said in a matter-of-fact manner from his station at the controls. "Thanks, Anatoly," Brock said sarcastically. "Work with me here," he said, turning his attention back to the porthole. He resumed his serious gaze out the front port, with the camera aimed at himself, at arms length. He restarted his dramatic beginning to his documentary. "It still gets me every time. To see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at two thirty in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above." Anatoly rolled his eyes and muttered something incoherent in Russian. "You're so full of shit, Boss," Bodine chuckled, not taking his eyes off the sonar. Brock just smiled and pointed the camera out of the port.

Mir One passed over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massive anchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, its bronze windlass caps gleaming. Next to the great ship, Mir One and Two looked like nothing more than little white bugs.

"Dive nine. Here we are again on the deck of Titanic. Two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a freight train going over and ant if our hull fails. These windows are nine inches thick and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds," Brock said to make his video more dramatic.

With a light bump, Mir One landed gracefully on the roof of the deck house, near the ruins of the Officer's Quarters, where Mir Two landed just seconds later. "Right. Let's go to work," Lovett ordered. Bodine slipped on a pair of 3-D electronic goggles, and grabbed the joystick controls of ROV. Outside the sub, the ROV, a small orange and black robot lifted from its cradle and flew forward. Written on the rear of the robot, was SNOOP DOG. "Walking the dog," Bodine said seriously.

Snoop Dog drove itself away from the sub, paying out its umbilical cord behind it like a robot yo-yo. It's twin stereo video cameras swiveled like insect eyes. The ROV descended through an open shaft that was once the beautiful First Class Grand Staircase. It continued to go down several decks, then moved laterally into the First Class Reception Room.

Bodine watched what was happening through Snoop Dog Vision in his 3D goggles. It moved through the cavernous interior like some strange fish. The remains of the ornate hand carved woodwork, which gave the ship its elegance moved through the floodlights, the lines blurred by slow dissolution and descending rusticle formations. Stalactites of rust hung down so that it looked like a natural grotto and then the scene would shift and the lines of a ghostly undersea mansion could be seen again. Snoop Dog maneuvered it's way past a grand piano in amazingly good condition, considering the circumstances. The keys had all managed to remain in place, gleaming black and white in the lights from the little robot. Further still, into the ship, a chandelier still hung from the ceiling by it's wire, it too glittered brightly as Snoop's lights advanced on it. The lights played across the floor, revealing a champagne bottle, and some china with the White Star Line emblem on it them. A woman's high-top shoe sat under a layer of sand and dirt and not far from that an eerie white porcelain doll head. It's hair gone, swept away by the ocean currents. It's eyes still intact, starring blankly as though longing to be at the surface once more.

The little white robot, crept along, entering a corridor, so well preserved, there was still a wooden door hanging on its rusted hinges. An ornate piece of molding, a wall sconce, hinting at the grandeur of the past. The ROV turned and went through a black doorway, on the wall beside the door, was a brass room number, B-52. Before them stood the sitting room of one of the grand Promenade Suites, one of the most luxurious staterooms on the ship.

"I'm in the sitting room. Heading for bedroom B-54," reported Bodine. Lovett stood, crouching to stand behind Bodine. "Stay off the floor. Don't stir it up like you did yesterday," he ordered. "I'm tryin' boss." Bodine replied exasperated.

Glinting in the lights were the brass fixtures of the near-perfectly preserved fireplace. An albino Galathea crab crawled over it. Nearby lay the remains of a divan and writing desk. The robot crossed the ruins of the once elegant room toward another door. It squeezed through the doorframe, scraping rust and wood chunks loose on both sides. It moved out of a cloud of rust and kept going.

"I'm crossing the bedroom." The remains of a pillared canopy bed, broken chairs and a dresser occupy the once grand room. Through the collapsed wall of the bathroom, the porcelain toilet and bathtub look almost new, gleaming in the dark.

"Okay, I want to see what's under the wardrobe door," Lovett stated, his eyes glued on the black and white screen. Using his joy stick, Bodine carefully maneuvered through the debris, moving objects aside. "Easy Lewis. Take it slow," Lovett warned. With nervous hands, Bodine grips a wardrobe door, lying at an angle in a corner, and pulls it with Snoop's metal gripper. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Bodine's face. Reluctantly the door moved, stirring up a cloud of dust. The three of them, wait silently for the silt to clear.

"Oooo Daddy-oh, are you seein' what I'm seen'?" Bodine asked excitedly. Lovett watched the monitor, with a look of pure joy across his face, like a child on Christmas morning. "Oh baby, baby, baby! It's payday boys!" Bodine exclaimed. Lovett didn't hear a single word Bodine had said. He stared at the screen in awe. There nestled in the debris, lay a small sea green safe. Over the years under water it had rusted slightly around the edges, but that didn't phase Lovett at all. He was looking at the safe that had once belonged to Caledon Hockley, the last known person to own The Heart of the Ocean.

**A/N: Okay so there's the first chapter. I looked up the actual screenplay and read that and that's where the Russian guy Anatoly came from. So if you see any characters that aren't in the movie, they're in the actual screenplay, they're not mine either. Well, thanks for reading and like I said earlier, if you review I'll give you a nice red cherry!! Yum!!**

**-Lily Rose-**


	2. Keldysh

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the incredible movie Titanic. Everything here, this story line, it's characters and anything else, except the actual ship, belongs to the fantastic James Cameron. I am merely turning it into a story, rather than a screenplay.**

**A/N: So here's chapter two. This was pre-written, which is why it's up so fast, the next one will definitely take a little longer to get up, but I'm working on it. Please review when you get to the end! Thank You!!**

CHAPTER TWOKELDYSH

The atmosphere above the ocean's surface couldn't have been more different. There, drifting in the midst of the ocean, sat a small white Russian research vessel called Akademik Mistislav Keldysh, but more commonly known as Keldysh. As opposed to the dark murky world located just under the Keldysh, the afternoon sun beamed down on the little ship and all it's excitement.

As Mir Two was lowered into it's cradle by a large crane, the crew of Keldysh cheered exuberantly while the safe, dripping wet was carefully lowered onto the ship's deck by a cable.

Lovett excitedly bounded across the deck, closely followed by Bodine and a camera crew he had hired to capture his big moment. "Who's the best? Say it!" Bodine yelled over the noisy throng of workers, slapping an arm around Lovett's shoulder. Lovett smiled and shook his head. "You are, Lewis," he replied before looking back at the video crew.

"You rolling?"

The cameraman gave a thumbs up. "Rolling," he confirmed.

Satisfied, Lovett nodded to his technicians. Within seconds a loud saw was buzzing through the metal hinges holding the safe in tact. In order to work up the suspense, Brock began to speak to the camera. "Well, here it is, the moment of truth." He began, just as dramatically as he had been down in the submersible. "Here's when we find out if the time, the sweat, the money spent to charter this ship and these subs, to come out here to the middle of the North Atlantic, were worth it. If what we think is in that safe, it will be." He excitedly turned back to the safe, grinning wolfishly with anticipation at the little green box that could potentially change his, and his crew's, lives forever.

Brock nodded to a man in a bright orange jump suit, who clutched a fairly new looking circular saw in his gloved hands. The man stepped forward, powering up the saw. Behind Brock, Bodine, who had managed to get his hands on a bottle of champagne, popped open the bottle, spraying everyone in a mist of celebration. The sickening sound of metal on metal reached Brock's ears, but to the treasure hunter, it sounded like a chorus of angels.

"Okay, crack her open," Brock ordered another jumpsuit clad man. The man hooked an old rusty hooked chain to the front of the safe and pried the door open. The door fell to the deck with a loud clang that could hardly be heard over the sound of the men. Thick, brown, rusty water poured from the safe, bringing with it some old papers and notes. Brock moved closer, peering into the safe's muddy interior. He felt his stomach sink to the bottom of the ocean. Anxiously, he stuck his hand in the putrid thing, pulling more bits of paper and tossing them aside. His face fell as he pulled his hand out of the safe. "Shit," he muttered in disbelief. Bodine shook his head silently behind him. "You know, boss, this happened to Geraldo and his career never recovered," he stated bluntly. Lovett looked at him, trying not to believe a word Bodine was saying. The camera focused in on Lovett's face. "Get that outta my face," he said, swiping the lens away with the back of his hand.

* * *

Bobby Buell, a man with a rather large nose that had been cautiously covered in sunscreen, spoke to the investors of the necklace via satellite phone from the little lab deck. The little room was full of hustle and bustle as lab technicians carefully removed papers from the safe, carefully placing them into separate trays of water and washed artifacts from the stateroom, in hopes of preserving them.

"You send out what I tell you and when I tell you," Lovett yelled at the camera crew. He stood in the doorway, the crew cowering outside in the tight hall. "I'm signing your paychecks, not 60 Minutes," he reminded them before ordering "Now get set up for the uplink." The crew obeyed, returning to the launching deck.

Buell covered the phone with his hand and turned to Lovett. "The partners want to know how it's going," he said. "How it's going? It's going like a first date in prison, whattaya think!?" he hissed. Buell just shrugged offering the phone to him like it was a dangerous animal. Lovett snatched the phone from his hand instantly went cool. "Hi, Dave? Barry? Look, it wasn't in the safe," he raised his hand in an 'it's cool' manner, although the two partners could not see him. Brock waited for their response before he spoke again. "No, look, don't worry about it, there's still plenty of places it could be. In the floor debris in the suite, in the mother's room, in the purser's safe on C deck-" Brock babbled on and on, trying to please the men. He glanced around the room as he spoke, looking at the screens that were set up to the water trays. "Hang on a second," he said as he watched one of the screens.

Brock watched carefully as a pair of gloved hands sprayed a gentle stream of water on what appeared to be a pencil drawing. He gazed in awe at the picture, that despite being underwater for nearly ninety years, was still in excellent shape. It was a drawing of woman, posed nude with a sort of casual modesty. She sat on an Empire divan looking straight ahead, with a pool of light that seemed to radiate out of her eyes. Scrawled along the bottom of the portrait, Brock could just make out the date and initials. April 14, 1912, JD. But it wasn't the woman or the date that caught Brock's eye. No, it was what hung around the woman's neck. There, at her throat hung a necklace, that was cut into the shape of a heart. Brock stared at the hauntingly familiar necklace. But, no, it couldn't be the same one.

"Where's the photograph of the necklace?" asked breathlessly. Buell searched the pile of papers before him. He quickly shuffled papers around before producing a picture of The Heart of the Ocean.

Brock examined the black and white photograph, which featured a diamond necklace on a black velvet display stand, closely. He held it next to the drawing, examining every detail of the drawing's necklace and comparing it to the necklace in the photograph. "I'll be God damned," he breathed.

**A/N: So, what do you think? Love it? Hate it? Like it? Despise it? A bit iffy? Want more? Let me know!! And as always, thanks for reading!! **

**-Lily Rose-**


	3. The Woman In The Picture

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the incredible movie Titanic. Everything here, the story line, it's characters and anything else, except the actual ship, belong to the fantastic James Cameron and Warner Brothers. I am merely turning it into a story, rather than keeping it a screenplay.**

**A/N: First off, thank you to everyone who read my last two chapters. I had actually started writing this back in October and had just lost the urge to continue with it. Those of you who commented inspired me to continue and for that I am extremely appreciative. Anyway, here' s the third chapter. I hope you enjoy it!! And don't forget to review at the end!! Thanks again!! **

CHAPTER THREE

THE WOMAN IN THE PICTURE

Streams of Californian sunlight fought its way through the tangled roses and vines that wound their way up a glassed-in pottery studio. Inside an old woman enjoyed the morning light that made it through, while shaping a clay pot on the wheel. Her ancient hands, wrinkled and spotted with age, were covered in the thick, reddish-brown, clay. But, despite her age, the woman, Rose Calvert, was surprisingly steady as she worked. One room over, she could hear her granddaughter, Lizzy, banging around in the kitchen, putting away dishes and performing other kitchen duties so that Rose wouldn't have to, while listening to a news report that played on their little television. Rose, too, vaguely listened to the television, but to her it served simply as background noise.

"I've planned this expedition for three years, and we're out here recovering some amazing things. Things that will have enormous historical and educational value," a man was saying. Rose's wrinkled face smirked. _'Historical and educational value,' people will tell themselves anything,_ she thought. Although Rose wasn't really listening, she had picked up that the man was a treasure hunter, who had found another location to tear apart. Where? She hadn't been paying attention. _He's nothing but a grave robber _Rose silently told herself. Rose caught a little bit of the news reporters response. "But it's no secret that education is your main purpose. You're a treasure hunter. So what is the treasure you're hunting?" Rose shook her head, _and she has bought it._ Stopping her wheel for a moment, Rose listened. "I'd rather show than tell you, and we think we're very close to doing just that," the man said.

Curious as to what the 'treasure' might be, Rose stopped spinning and slowly stood up. She wiped the wet clay from her hands, just before clutching her cane tightly and wobbling into the kitchen. Her clay covered apron hung loosely around her neck, protecting the African print dress she wore. When she walked, Rose looked just like your average old woman, hunched over and shapeless. But, despite the fact that her body was in ruins, Rose's eyes shone as bright and clear as a girl half her age, three times over.

"Turn that up please, dear," she said in an old shaky voice. Lizzy, who looked to be in her early forties and had long blonde hair, rushed over to the television to do her grandmother's bidding, as the reporter continued. "Your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber," she said in a clear television voice.

The screen showed a tan man, about half Rose's age. "Nobody called the recovery of the artifacts from King Tut's tomb grave robbing. I have museum-trained experts here, making sure this stuff is preserved and catalogued properly," he defended. And then as if to prove his point, he continued, "Look at this drawing, which was found today-"

Rose starred at the drawing in awe. It a charcoal drawing of a young woman, wearing nothing but a heart shaped pendant around her neck. She barely heard as the man on the television bragged about his findings. "-a piece of paper that's been underwater for eighty-four years, and my team are able to preserve it intact. Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when we can see it and enjoy it now-?"

Rose's mouth hung open in amazement. "I'll be God damned," she breathed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Despite the fact that it was nearing just four in the morning, the crew on Keldysh were hard at work, getting ready to lower the submersibles into the inky black water of the North Atlantic. Brock Lovett had one leg up, getting ready to hop into Mir One when Bobby Buell ran up to him. "There's a satellite call for you," he explained, slightly out of breath from running to stop Brock. Lovett rolled his eyes annoyed. "Bobby, we're launching. See these submersibles here going into the water? Take a message."

"No, trust me, you want to take this call," Buell said crossing his arms with a smug look on his face. Irritated beyond belief, Brock reluctantly followed Buell into the lab deck.

Pushing down the blinking line, Buell handed Lovett the phone. Rolling his eyes once more, with an attitude to match that of a thirteen year old, Brock put on a professional voice. "This is Brock Lovett. What can I do for you, Mrs.-?" He looked at Bobby, asking him silently for her name. "Rose Calvert." Buell responded, with the smug look of satisfaction still residing on his face. "-Mrs. Calvert?" Brock finished his question.

"I was wondering if you had found the 'Heart of the Ocean' yet, Mr. Lovett," Rose Calvert stated, rather than asked, for she knew the answer. She waited anxiously for him to overcome the shock she knew he was experiencing and she could hear another voice in the background say "I told you, you wanted to take this call."

A few seconds later, Brock Lovett seemed to have gotten over his shock, "Alright, you have my attention, Rose," he said in a calm voice. "Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?"

Rose smiled. "Oh yes. The woman in the picture is me," she stated simply.

**A/N: Sorry if this is a bit boring, in either the next chapter or the one after that (I'll have to see how the movie is divided) we'll be getting to the good part, you know the part with Jack and young Rose and the actual ship. So just bear with me for the next few chapters. Thanks for reading!! And please review!! No joke, reviews really do inspire me to continue writing, even if you hate it let me know how I can improve!! Thanks for reading!!**

**-Lily Rose-**


	4. Reflections of the Past

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with the incredible movie Titanic. Everything here, this story line, it's characters and anything else, except the actual ship, belongs to the fantastic James Cameron. I am merely turning it into a story, rather than a screenplay.**

**A/N: Wow, it's literally been forever since I have even looked at this. I have to say I probably wouldn't have had the kick to get back to it if I hadn't received a review from Spring-Heel-Jaqueline the other day saying "Update! Update!" In all honesty, I forgot I even had this on fanfiction until I got the review email. LOL But then I decided to go back and reread what I had already written and decided that I could not just abandon it, so here is the next chapter. I'm actually really excited to get started on this again. I hope you enjoy it and don't forget to review!**

CHAPTER FOUR

REFLECTIONS OF THE PAST

Rose Calvert looked down at the endless water, glistening below her. A thousand memories washed over her as she spotted a white pinprick on the horizon. As the helicopter drew nearer, the pinprick turned into a blob and the blob turned into the shape of a ship. A large ship? No, but a ship-none-the-less. Rose took a deep, shaky breath. She had not been on a ship, or even a boat for that matter, since disembarking Carpathia nearly eight-four years ago.

Rose could feel her pulse quicken as the small ship grew larger. A wave of anxiety flooded over her body as she ceased to pet the small dog who slept on her lap. The sudden lack of attention roused the sleeping dog. He turned around on her lap. Gazing up at her, begging for attention. Rose smiled down at the dog and began to pet him again, happy to have a distraction.

There was a steady breeze on the deck of Keldysh. Mir 2 swung out over the sparkling water, getting prepared for its next dive, as gentle waves lapped against the side of the research vessel.

Brock walked from station to station, ensuring that everything was as it should be before the submersible went down, trying his best to ignore Bodine, who did not believe Rose's story for one minute. "She's a goddamned liar!" Bodine cried, throwing his hands up in frustration, as Brock walked past him to inspect the next station. Bodine followed, close at his heals. "Some nutcase seeking money or publicity. God only knows what!" he yelled. "Like that Russian babe, what's her name?" he asked, snapping his fingers in exasperation. "Anesthesia," he decided, but the loud hum of an approaching helicopter drowned out his voice. "They're inbound," Buell yelled. Brock looked up and nodded before abandoning his task and following Buell over to where the helicopter would be landing.

Bodine followed behind Brock closely. "She says she's Rose DeWitt Bukater, right?" Brock nodded. "That's right."

"Rose DeWitt Bukater died on the Titanic at the age of seventeen. If she'd've lived, she'd be over a hundred now!" Bodine tried to reason. Despite Bodine's nagging, Brock could not help but smile as the helicopter drew nearer. "A hundred and one next month," he answered. Bodine could not have been more annoyed with Brock. "Okay, so she's a very old goddamned liar!" Brock just shook his head, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. "Look," Bodine continued. "I traced her as far back as the 1920's, she was working as an actress. An actress," he stressed. "There's your first clue Sherlock. Her name was Rose Dawson back then. Then she married this guy named Calvert and moved to Cedar Rapids and punches out a couple of kids. Now Calvert's dead and from what I've heard Cedar Rapids is dead," Bodine finished with an air of confidence. Brock rounded on him, pointing his finger into Bodine's face. "And everybody who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead- or on this ship. But she knows about it and I want to hear what she has to say. Got it?" he asked menacingly.

In a thundering downblast, the helicopter's wheels bounced down on the helipad. Lovett, Buell and Bodine watched in disbelief as the helicopter crew chief handed out ten old fashioned suitcases. "Doesn't exactly travel light, does she?" Bodine shouted over the pulsing blades of the helicopter.

"Hurry up. Give him a hand," shouted an orange jumpsuit clad member of the Keldysh crew.

"S'cuse me, I have to go check our supply of Depends," Bodine muttered. Ignoring Bodine's snide comment, Brock bounded over to Rose, who looked impossibly fragile amongst all the high tech gear, grungy deck crew and gigantic equipment. "Mrs. Calvert, I'm Brock Lovett. Welcome to the Keldysh," he introduced himself as two other members of the crew lowered Rose, wheelchair bound, onto the deck. Rose nodded and held out a fragile hand for him to shake. Brock was astonished at how frail and boney her hand felt. "Alright, let's get her inside," he shouted. Brock turned around and noticed Lizzy as she jumped out of the helicopter after her grandmother. "Hi, Brock Lovett," he stated. She looked him over and gave him a quick "hi" in response as she ducked unnecessarily under the rotor while holding Rose's little Pomeranian close to her body. "Thanks," Lizzy nodded to a crewmember as he stepped aside to let her take control of Rose's wheelchair. Brock watched them walk off of the landing pad. "Hey," shouted a man from within the helicopter. Brock looked up and was astounded to see that the man was handing him a round bowl full of goldfish. Goldfish in hand, Brock stared after Rose and Lizzy, a look of complete bewilderment etched across his face.

Lizzy carefully unpacked Rose's things in the small utilitarian room they were to be staying in. It was small with white walls and two bare windows that looked out onto the research deck. Hanging on one wall was a small oil painting of an old ship that was not doing a good job of decorating the little room. Bodine and Brock stood in the doorway and watched as Rose carefully arranged a number of old framed photos next to her gold fish bowl on the little bureau next to the bed.

"Is your stateroom alright?" Lovett spoke up. Rose hardly glanced up from her pictures. "Oh yes, very nice." Lizzy bustled beside her, placing some clothes in the bureau. Rose looked up to Brock, "Have you met my granddaughter, Lizzy? She takes care of me," Rose said proudly. Lizzy looked at her grandmother and smiled. "Yes. We met just a few minutes ago, Nana. Remember, up on deck?" Rose shook her head, embarrassed. "Oh, yes," she said.

Brock glanced at Bodine with an 'uh oh' look on his face. Bodine rolled his eyes. Rose had returned to arranging her photographs. Brock caught a glance of some of them as Rose arranged. They were usual snapshots of family affairs and children playing.

"There, that's nice," Rose said, sitting back in her wheelchair. "I have to have my pictures when I travel." The little dog Brock had seen Lizzy carrying earlier barked at Rose's feet and excitedly tried to hop onto the chair. "-and Freddy, of course. Isn't that right, sweetie?" she said to the dog.

Brock crossed his arms in the doorway. He was starting to lose patience with the old woman but took a deep breath and tried to remain cool. "Would you like anything?" he asked with as much kindness as he could muster. Rose turned away from the dog. "Yes," she said. "I should like to see my drawing."

Rose gazed at the drawing laying at the bottom of its water tray, confronting herself across a span of eighty-four years. It swayed and rippled in the water, almost as if it were alive. "They have to keep it immersed until they can figure out the best way to preserve it," Brock explained to Rose and Lizzy. But Rose was not listening. Her mind was eighty-four years away.

_With a gentle hand, a man held a conte crayon. With two efficient lines, he deftly created a shoulder and the shape of her hair._

Rose watched as the woman's face in the drawing danced under the water.

_The man's eyes were just visible over the top of his sketching pad. His blue eyes were soft, yet fearlessly direct as he studied her._

Rose smiled to herself at the memory. "Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared in 1792, about the time Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped too; recut into a heart-like shape and it became Le Coeur de la Mer. The Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond," Brock Lovett explained, shaking Rose from her memories and bringing her back to the Keldysh.

"It was a dreadful, heavy thing," she said pointing to the reference photograph of the necklace in Brock's hand. "I only wore it this once."

Lizzy walked over to her grandmother. "You actually believe this is you, Nana?" she asked in disbelief. "It is me, dear. Wasn't I a dish?" she asked.

Brock ignored what Lizzy and Rose were saying, trying to get Rose to pay attention to him. "I tracked it down through insurance records," he said. He paused to make sure he had their attention and knelt down beside Rose's wheelchair. "And an old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Rose?" he asked. He had to be sure she was who she said she was and if, in fact, she was Rose DeWitt Bukater, she would know. Rose thought carefully. "I should imagine it was someone named Hockley," she said. Brock smiled, relieved. If she was not telling the truth, at least she had done her research. "Nathan Hockley, right," he said. "Pittsburgh steel tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Caledon Hockley bought in France for his fiancée-" He paused. "You, a week before he sailed on Titanic. And the claim was filed right after the sinking, so the diamond had to've gone down with the ship." Brock looked up at Lizzy, "See the date?"

Lizzy peered down at the drawing. "April 14, 1912-" she said.

"So, if your grandmother is who she says she is, she was wearing the diamond the day Titanic sank." He looked back at Rose. "And that makes you my new best friend. I will happily compensate you for anything you can tell us that will lead to its recovery."

Rose shook her head. "I don't want your money, Mr. Lovett. I know how hard it is for people who care greatly for money to give some away."

Brock looked at her skeptically. "You don't want anything?" he asked.

Rose indicated to the drawing. "You may give me this, if anything I tell you is of value," she said. Lovett did not think twice. "Deal." He stood up and crossed the room. "Over here are a few things we've recovered from your staterooms."

Laid out on a worktable were fifty or so objects, from mundane to valuable. Rose, shrunken in her chair, could barely see over the tabletop. With a trembling hand she lifted a tortoise shell hand mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. She caressed it wonderingly. "This was mine," she gasped. "How extraordinary! It looks the same as the last time I saw it." She turned the mirror over in her wrinkled hands and looked at her ancient reflection in the cracked glass. "The reflection has changed a bit," she stated, setting it back down on the table, face down. A little further up the table, she spied something else; a silver and moonstone art-nouveau brooch. She picked it up. "My mother's brooch. She wanted go back for it. Caused quite a fuss," she said, shaking her head at the absurdity. She then picked up an ornate art-nouveau hair comb. A jade butterfly took flight on the ebony handle of the comb. All at once, Rose experienced a rush of images and emotions that had lain dormant for nearly eight decades as she handled the butterfly comb.

Brock studied her intently. "Are you ready to go back to Titanic?" he asked.

In a darkened room, lined with TV monitors, images of the wreck filled the screens, all fed from Mirs One and Two. "Live from 12,000 feet," Bodine said, proudly as Lizzy wheeled Rose into the room. Rose stared raptly at the screens. She stared, enthralled by one in particular. It was the image of the bow railing. Brock studied the look on Rose's face, wondering what could be so meaningful about that part of the ship.

"The bow struck the bottom like an axe, from the impact," Bodine explained. "Here, I can run a simulation we worked up on this monitor over here." Lizzy turned the chair so Rose could see Bodine's computer screen. As he looked up the file, he kept talking with his back turned to them. "We've put together the world's largest database on the Titanic. Okay, here-"

Brock spoke up from behind Rose. "Rose might not want to see this, Lewis," he said, hesitantly. "No, no. It's fine," she said, waving him away. "I'm curious."

Bodine started a computer animated graphic on the screen. He explained what was happening as it appeared on the screen. "She hit's the berg on the starboard side and it sort of bumps along; punching holes like a Morse code. Dit, dit, dit, down the side. Now she's flooding in the forward compartments and the water spills over the tops of the bulkheads, going aft," he explained animatedly. "As her bow is going down, her stern is coming up. Slow at first and then faster and faster until it's lifting all that weight, maybe 20 or 30 thousand tons, out of the water and the hull can't deal. So SKRTT," he said, making a sound in time with the animation. "It splits! Right down to the keel, which acts like a big hinge. Now the bow swings down and the stern falls back level, but the weight of the bow pulls the stern up vertical, and the bow section detaches, heading for the bottom. The stern bobs like a cork, floods and goes under at about 2:20 am, two hours and forty minutes after the collision."

Rose watched the clinical dissection of the disaster without emotion as the animation followed the bow section sink.

"The bow pulls out of its dive and planes away, almost a half a mile before it hits the bottom going maybe 12 miles an hour. KABOOM!" Bodine narrated as the bow impacted, digging deeply into the bottom of the ocean. "The stern implodes as it sinks, from the pressure, and rips apart from the force of the current as it falls, landing like a big pile of junk," he indicated to the simulation. "Cool, huh?"

"Thank you for that fine forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine," Rose said, kindly. She turned around in her wheelchair and gazed at the screen which displayed the bow of the ship. "Of course, the experience of it was somewhat less clinical."

Brock sat down in a chair opposite Rose. "Will you share it with us?" he asked. Rose looked at the view from one of the subs tracking slowly over the boat deck. She recognized one of the Wellin davits, still in place. In the back of her mind, the sound of an officer's voice echoed "Women and children only."

_Screaming faces in a running crowd. Pandemonium and terror. People crying, praying, kneeling on the deck._

Rose looked at another monitor. Snoop Dog moved down a rusted, debris-filled corridor. She watched as the endless row of doorways slid past, like dark mouths.

_A small child, no older than three years old, stood ankle deep in water in the middle of the endless corridor. Tears streamed down his face as he wailed. Alone._

Rose felt the sting of tears in her throat as her eyes welled. She put her head down, sobbing quietly into her hands.

Lizzy put her hands on the handles of the wheelchair. "I'm taking her to rest," she said. She started to pull Rose's chair back. "No!" Rose shouted. Her voice was surprisingly strong. The sweet little old lady was gone, replaced by a woman with eyes of steel. Lovett signaled everyone to stay quiet. "Tell us, Rose," he said. She looked, from screen to screen, at the images of the ruined ship. "It's been eighty-four years-," she began. "Just tell us what you can-" Brock interrupted. Rose held up her hand for silence. "Do you want to hear this or not, Mr. Lovett," she asked. Brock smiled. "It's been eighty-four years," she restarted. "and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in-"

Brock switched on a mini-recorder and set it near her.

"-Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams and it was. It really was."

**A/N: To everyone who read, I thank you, and to everyone who reviewed, I thank you even more! If you have any suggestions, comments or concerns, please let me know. Constructive criticism is always, always welcome. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really enjoyed writing it.**

**Thank you again**

**-Lily Rose-**


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